The Dance of Christmas Past
by hpkiwi
Summary: It's almost Christmas 2014, and George Weasley has an amusing tale to tell Rose and Hugo about their father from twenty years beforehand. Also featuring Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry.


_A/N: Yet again, a fic inspired by a Youtube comments page - this time on the notorious McGonagall-Ron dance in the Goblet of Fire film. A few people suggested what would happen if George told this tale to the next generation of Weasleys. A rewatch also produced some gems I hadn't noticed before, like Ron's unsuccessful attempt at shooting the bird to the Twins blocked by McGonagall, and Hermione's amused reaction in the background. Ironically, despite all the jokes online about Snape teaching the Slytherins to dance, Alan Rickman in real life showed off some moves in a music video for the song called In Demand by Texas. RIP Alan, you will **always** be missed._

 _December 23, 2014_

"Mummy, stop it! You and Daddy are being disgusting again!"

Rose giggled loudly as Hugo blocked his eyes with his hand. Breaking apart from their heated snog and blushing furiously like the teenagers they once were, Rose and Hugo's parents turned to face their nauseated children, their arms still wrapped tightly around each other. Save for the whole new generation of Weasley children living under its roof, The Burrow looked much the same as it always did before Christmas; vibrantly decorated, and increasingly packed to the rafters. A jazzy tune emanated from the speakers of Molly and Arthur's old gramophone.

"Didn't know my little brother was getting so soft in his old age," came an amused voice from the doorway as George Weasley, smirking widely, stepped in with a bundle of presents. "Celestina Warbeck, really Ron?"

"Uncle George!" Rose was the first to launch her way off the couch with Hugo hot in pursuit.

"Hey, you little ragamuffins," George winked at Rose and gave Hugo's hair a playful ruffle. "Uncle George's a little tired to be playing orchard Quidditch, so how about a story before your grandmother heads inside and gets tea on?"

"Yes please!" Hugo shouted joyfully, practically defying gravity in his enthusiasm as George placed his bag of presents under the Christmas tree. "We've heard lots about Uncle Harry, can we have one on Mummy and Daddy?"

"Great idea," George chuckled. "Your mum will like this one, I'm sure," he added as he motioned at Hermione to stay where she was. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice to a storyteller's best whisper as Rose and Hugo whisked their way back to the couch.

"It was a chilly December day, many, many years ago now, that Hogwarts had a ball, because there were some very special guests here competing against your Uncle Harry. Twenty years ago, now, if memory serves me correctly."

"The Triwizard Tournament!" Rose whispered animatedly to her brother.

"Just so," replied George with a nod, drinking in his niece's enthusiasm. "So, balls as you know require dancing, and let me tell you this….none of us, save for Mr. Longbottom, yes, _Professor Longbottom_ , could dance. Your dad, in particular, hated the idea."

At this, Ron cleared his throat and proceeded to stomp his way to the kitchen, from where some unusually loud scrubbing could subsequently be heard.

"So, Professor McGonagall, as head of Gryffindor, decided to be helpful and teach us. Your dad made some rather naughty comments about Eloise Midgen's acne, so McGonagall decided to teach him a lesson, literally."

"By getting him to dance?" Hugo giggled. "With Mum?"

"No, with herself. Worse yet, it was a _waltz_." George's eyes gleamed with a chaotic combination of mischief and nostalgia as he ploughed on. Both children noticed their mother's often prim façade had totally shattered; she was barely restraining a laugh, Rose knew.

"Your dad even tried giving us the finger because Uncle Fred and I were giving him _hell_ for it."

"What's the fing-" Hugo began, but he was cut off by Hermione, who although still looking amused, had drawn herself up to her full height and had crossed her arms severely. "Please continue, Uncle George," she said in an only half-stern voice. "Don't teach them bad habits in front of me."

"Point taken," George replied as he tipped his head in the direction of Hermione, but giving the children one of his trademark roguish winks.

"So, we watched on as Professor McGonagall taught your dad how to waltz. It was quite the spectacle, let me tell you. Your mother definitely was amused by this – don't deny it Hermione, Fred and I saw you smirking!"

"Was not," Hermione shot back haughtily, suddenly discovering something fascinating about the rafters. Rose heard a snort from the other end of the room although it surely couldn't have come from the most-embarrassed Ron, ensconced in the kitchen.

"And your Uncle Harry, well, he thoroughly was enjoying it, because he couldn't dance either…."

"He still can't," interrupted Ginny with faux irritation as she sided into the room and perched herself by the fire, waving her wand once so the water on her coat promptly evaporated. "Right, Harry?" she queried at seemingly no-one in particular.

"No, I can't," sighed Harry resignedly, pulling off the Invisibility Cloak, from under which he'd evidently been listening to the entire conversation. "Why couldn't _I_ tell part of this story?"

"Well, I kept my promise to you about never letting you forget, didn't I? Besides, bad habits die hard, I see," George admonished, wagging his finger disapprovingly as Harry tucked the Cloak away. "You can't tell stories if you're invisible, Harry – no wonder you never got put into Ravenclaw. Such a terrible role-model you are."

"Hypocrite," shot back Harry. "Are you really saying that the Chosen One, of all people, is a bad role mo- _ARRGH!"_

"Thanks for pinching him, Ginny," chuckled George as Rose yet again stifled her laughter at the look of the deflated-looking Harry, who was rubbing his right armpit with considerable discomfort. Hermione gave Ginny an appreciative nod.

"Wash time, children!" came the clear, commanding voice of Molly Weasley as she entered. "Dinner will be in twenty minutes!" As Hugo and Rose ran from the lounge up the stairs, George turned to the assembled adults in the room.

"Imagine, though, if it was Professor Flitwick. He couldn't even reach anyone's waist. Or worst of all, Slytherin! Like Snape and Draco Malfoy….." He sighed dreamily as he stared out at the setting Sun behind Stoatshed Hill.

"Or Crabbe and Goyle," chortled Ginny before clearing her throat and clenching her teeth dramatically. "Put…your….hands….on…..my…..waist."

At that, the occupants of The Burrow's living room erupted into laughter, warmed not so much by the fire as by each others' presence, as always.


End file.
